'If you give anything I think you ought to give a pound, father,' said Kathleen.
'I'll see when the time comes.
I don't want to give less than anyone else, but on the other hand I see no reason to give more than I need.'
Kathleen put away her papers in the drawer of the writing-table and stood up.
She looked at her wrist-watch.
'Is Millicent ready?' asked Mrs Skinner.
'There's plenty of time.
We're only asked at four, and I don't think we ought to arrive much before half past.
I told Davis to bring the car round at four-fifteen.'
Generally Kathleen drove the car, but on grand occasions like this Davis, who was the gardener, put on his uniform and acted as chauffeur.
It looked better when you drove up, and naturally Kathleen didn't much want to drive herself when she was wearing her new jumper.
The sight of her mother forcing her fingers one by one into her new gloves reminded her that she must put on her own.
She smelt them to see if any odour of the cleaning still clung to them.
It was very slight.
She didn't believe anyone would notice.
At last the door opened and Millicent came in. She wore her widow's weeds.
Mrs Skinner never could get used to them, but of course she knew that Millicent must wear them for a year.
It was a pity they didn't suit her; they suited some people.
She had tried on Millicent's bonnet once, with its white band and long veil, and thought she looked very well in it.
Of course she hoped dear Alfred would survive her, but if he didn't she would never go out of weeds.
Queen Victoria never had.
It was different for Millicent; Millicent was a much younger woman; she was only thirty-six: it was very sad to be a widow at thirty-six.
And there wasn't much chance of her marrying again.
Kathleen wasn't very likely to marry now, she was thirty-five; last time Millicent and Harold had come home she had suggested that they should have Kathleen to stay with them; Harold had seemed willing enough, but Millicent said it wouldn't do.
Mrs Skinner didn't know why not.
It would give her a chance.
Of course they didn't want to get rid of her, but a girl ought to marry, and somehow all the men they knew at home were married already.
Millicent said the climate was trying.
It was true she was a bad colour.
No one would think now that Millicent had been the prettier of the two.
Kathleen had fined down as she grew older, of course some people said she was too thin, but now that she had cut her hair, with her cheeks red from playing golf in all weathers, Mrs Skinner thought her quite pretty.
No one could say that of poor Millicent; she had lost her figure completely; she had never been tall, and now that she had filled out she looked stocky.
She was a good deal too fat; Mrs Skinner supposed it was due to the tropical heat that prevented her from taking exercise.
Her skin was sallow and muddy; and her blue eyes, which had been her best feature, had gone quite pale.
'She ought to do something about her neck,' Mrs Skinner reflected.
'She's becoming dreadfully jowly.'
She had spoken of it once or twice to her husband.
He remarked that Millicent wasn't as young as she was; that might be, but she needn't let herself go altogether.
Mrs Skinner made up her mind to talk to her daughter seriously, but of course she must respect her grief, and she would wait till the year was up.
She was just as glad to have this reason to put off a conversation the thought of which made her slightly nervous.
For Millicent was certainly changed.
There was something sullen in her face which made her mother not quite at home with her.
Mrs Skinner liked to say aloud all the thoughts that passed through her head, but Millicent when you made a remark (just to say something, you know) had an awkward habit of not answering, so that you wondered whether she had heard.
Sometimes Mrs Skinner found it so irritating, that not to be quite sharp with Millicent she had to remind herself that poor Harold had only been dead eight months.
The light from the window fell on the widow's heavy face as she advanced silently, but Kathleen stood with her back to it. She watched her sister for a moment.
'Millicent, there's something I want to say to you,' she said.
'I was playing golf with Gladys Hey wood this morning.'
'Did you beat her?' asked Millicent.
Gladys Hey wood was the Canon's only unmarried daughter.
'She told me something about you which I think you ought to know.'